


blight of his life

by mrstethras



Series: Paramour of Her Kind [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, i'll edit the tags with each update, there will be smut in most chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstethras/pseuds/mrstethras
Summary: It had been a long six months since the Blight ended, and an even longer six months since they’d said their final farewells. Oghren figured she'd storm in eventually, battering the oak doors off their hinges, answering the call to aid of Vigil's Keep. Just didn't think he'd have survived long enough to see her again for himself.Despite everything that had driven him out there, fiending for that last, good fight - a decent death, no matter how indecent a death he deserved - Oghren couldn’t seem to let the blasted darkspawn get their killing blow.Not with the Warden on her way.Well, it was hardly a secret. He’d always had a problem with giving things up.(loosely follows the events of awakenings.)
Relationships: Female Cousland/Oghren (Dragon Age), Oghren/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Paramour of Her Kind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144295
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: does include mentions of alcoholism, very brief suicidal ideation and (past) domestic violence.

It had been a long six months since the Blight ended, and an even longer six months since they’d said their final farewells. Oghren figured she'd storm in eventually, battering the oak doors off their hinges, answering the call to aid of Vigil's Keep. Just didn't think he'd have survived long enough to see her again for himself.

Despite everything that had driven him out there, fiending for that last, _good_ fight - a decent death, no matter how indecent a death he deserved - Oghren couldn’t seem to let the blasted darkspawn get their killing blow.

_Not with the Warden on her way._

Well, it was hardly a secret. He’d always had a problem with giving things up.  
  


***

"Did ya' miss me?" 

The Warden, Warden Commander, the Hero and Queen of Ferelden - whatever other sodding lengthy titles she'd collected - was suddenly veering from the burly hurlock she'd skewered to look his way. Her focus was broken by the familiar, guttural sound of his voice.

A skeletal _shriek_ spasming beneath her heavy boot, Bryar Cousland tore her helmet from her head, the red and yellow plumes of Ferelden heraldry falling away to unveil long, blonde locks, in braids and waves to her waist. Stark eyes widened in genuine surprise. Her pretty, round face splattered with black - and blood. That wasn’t new. Though the gold band on her forehead certainly _was_.

_He'd always said she was a looker._

"Andraste's arse, _Oghren_ , what are _you_ doing here?" He heard the genuine shock in her voice, quickly disguised by a signature sneer.

"I'm gonna take that as a _yes_ ," his chuckle rumbled, beyond happy to see her but didn’t dare to show it. _She didn’t need the encouragement._ Though he ached to the bone, having been fighting the scourge all the while he waited, consciously, Oghren straightened his slouch as she approached. 

That strong stride - _Stone, she was tall!_ \- armor shimmering gold, reflected the flames from the sconces, the dual fighting mabari on her right pauldron, the Cousland wreath on her left - close to her heart. At his eye-level, the griffon of the Grey, hammered boldly into the center of her cuirass. 

"Take it however you will." Flipping blood-sodden hair over her shoulder, Bryar sheathed her sword, caught his gaze in the slit of his helmet. Her soft voice hummed pleasantly in his ears. "And what brings you to Vigil's Keep, I wonder? Another _lover's spat_?"

Her guess, though harmless, hit too close to home. Rankled, his armour clinked as he shifted. Oghren had to remind himself that she was playing, as they had used to _._ Only, it wasn’t like it used to be. They’d both seen to that. When she married Alistair and he married Felsi. He swallowed the thought, forced a lop-sided grin. "Heh. You tell me, _your highness_. You're the expert on those."

He noticed the glimpse of a smirk across Bryar’s face, before her expression hardened - as though suddenly realising they weren’t the only two in the room. 

"Is this _charming_ dwarf a friend of yours, Your Grace?" A mage teetered at Bryar's side, blonde hair tied in a club at the nape of his neck, he brushed himself down. Regarding Oghren with a relaxed and pleasant smile that warmed his chiselled face. 

"Who's the pretty boy? Your new _plaything_?" Oghren snorted, glancing at him once, feeling oddly scrutinised by her unfamiliar escorts.

Bryar laughed, rolled her big, clear eyes to the ceiling.

"Anders," the mage introduced himself with a chuckle. " _Not_ a plaything, actually. Not yet, anyhow."

This _Anders_ was already starting to piss him off. "And the one with the big rack?" Oghren nodded to the top-heavy brunette, who seemed less inclined to come closer, tits spilling from the shittiest armor he’d seen in a while, she was certainly hard to miss.

" _Ugh_ ! Oghren, you _know_ me! We've been defending the keep together for -"

"Mhairi." Bryar's smooth, commanding tone cut the woman's ranting before it began.

"Yes, Commander - er - Your Grace."

It was satisfying to watch them stumble on all of those titles. 

"Clearly, he found your _face_ to be quite forgettable," Bryar added curtly. 

Even more satisfying, Oghren detected the slightest hint of jealousy amidst Bryar’s standard callousness.

_So, she_ **_did_ ** _miss him after all._

"Y-yes, Your Grace."

Seemingly bored with their introductions - still lusting for battle - Bryar waltzed away from her new lackeys, booting rotten limbs from her path. Oghren watched as her pretty new friends pranced over the dead just to keep up with her pace. He had been there once, trailing behind her - he’d used the excuse of having short legs, hadn’t told her the truth that he just liked the view.

"Since you _are_ here -" she stalled in the doorway, paused in the shadows, peered through the doorway, eyes fluttering closed as she sensed for darkspawn movements. "Are you coming?"

_Like he’d ever say no._ Oghren laughed aloud. "It’s not the first time she's asked me that!"

The mage snorted. 

" _Ugh_. Disgusting." Mhairi's nose crinkled, stepping aside to give him a wide berth - not that he could get very close without losing an eye! 

" _Manners_ , Mhairi,” Bryar clipped, voice humourless, matter of fact. “My friend here was one of the few to help end the Blight - no matter how _uncouth_ he may be."

Oghren felt the slightest swell of pride - something he hadn’t felt since the baby. Something he’d lost, a long time ago. It was a foreign feeling. Giddy weightlessness. _Or was that the drink?_

"I can assure you, you will be glad to have him by your side facing these creatures." 

"Of course, I'm sorry, Commander, Your Grace," Mhairi lowered her head. 

Though it was obvious neither Mhairi or the mage were entirely convinced by her words - side-eyeing each other in front of him - they dared not question their Commander and Queen.

Falting to finish the last dregs from his horn, Oghren couldn't resist another jab. _He’d missed her too, after all._ "While you're at it, why don’t you tell 'em what _else_ Ol' Oghren's good for -"

But Bryar's attention had been drawn to something outside of their senses - her intense glare. She stared down the crumbling wall, as though following a vision through the cracks in the mortar. Her head tilted, face blank. Oghren had seen this look of hers one too many times. He knew exactly what it meant - instinctively, he was already reaching for the axe at his back.

*******

"I don’t need you to come any closer. I can smell that _peasant_ _piss_ ale from here."

Oghren heard the raw anger in her voice, as she stared out over the battlements of the Keep, glowering at the grey, dead fields that made up her dismal country of Ferelden. They had successfully cleared out the fort, and Bryar had been made _Arlessa_ \- pointless, really, if they'd thought about it. _The woman already had the sodding throne._

"What's got _your_ smalls in a twist? Haven’t had a good tumble in a while?" he grumbled, blatantly ignoring her demand to _keep his distance_ . Despite what people thought - or saw - he wasn't _entirely_ stupid. Oghren knew well enough it wasn't the politics that were pissing her off. 

"That's very amusing," Bryar smiled, teeth bared, there was no softness in it. "I was going to say the exact same thing about _you_."

Oghren shrugged. She wasn’t actually _wrong_ about that. And it was true they had been at each other's throats since reuniting. Their usual banter certainly had more _bite_ \- and not in any way he would have liked. Not quite the same as it was with Felsi. Bryar’s snobbery had always made it far more _fun_. Still, it hadn’t been quite the reunion he’d imagined it would be.

_Not that any of it was really her fault._

Bryar didn’t - _couldn’_ t - know why he was there - and he wasn’t willing - _not ready_ \- to tell her. So, he'd remained blind drunk to avoid it. Just as he did with everything else. It was only _after_ she’d been summoned down to the prison cells, that he realised his unshakeable Warden was having a hard time of her own.

"What's the skinny, little squire kid got you all _hot and bothered_ for anyway?"

He stepped forward, snapping her attention away from the dreary landscape. Bryar's striking glare found him instead.

"The prisoner is not just _any squire_ ," she hissed quietly, raking a hand through loose blonde curls. "That _kid -_ as you so eloquently put _-_ is the _Howe_ heir."

Oghren knew little of human matters, admittedly, and still, that wasn't a name he'd soon forget. He remembered vividly the loud crack of broken ribs and splintered wood, as Bryar drove her sword through Rendon Howe's belly, hoisting it until it jarred in his sternum, impaling the old bastard, until he drooled thick rivulets of deep, dark blood, upon his own rusted torture rack.

_Good riddance._

He sighed aloud, took a long swig. "So what? Now he's just a dead man's son sitting in his own piss." Oghren offered up his horn, watched as Bryar snatched it up and drank deeply from it.

She shook her head. “I was _betrothed_ to that same _dead man’s son_ , once." Her lip curled at the pungent taste, or the thought, Oghren couldn't tell which. “Though it feels like more than a lifetime ago.” 

"Hmph. _Almost_ ? Why's that? Didn’t let you _sample the goods_?"

From the rim of the horn, Bryar's glare was deadly. She refused to take the bait, scoffing quietly to herself. "I met him once or twice - _as children_ , I might add, before you have any colourful commentary on _that_ -" She leaned against the parapet, the strength of his alcohol was clearly beginning to take off some of the edge. _Along with the stores in the cellar he was sure she'd been at._ “But since my family were closer in status, and I was closer in age to King Cailan, my father declined the engagement to Nathaniel - who happens to be sat in a cell as _my prisoner_.”

Oghren found it too easy to ignore how much of a _proper noble lady_ Bryar was, until she spoke like this. She’d only offered him glimpses - slithers - of the life she had led before the Blight had turned everything upside down. It’d been easy to pretend, when there had been darkspawn to kill lurking round every corner, that underneath all that Grey Warden duty, there was just a woman. Not a _noble_ , or a _Queen_ . There _was_ a woman too, of course. Just one he could never have.

Sure, he’d been married to a Paragon once. _And look where that had left him._ A living ancestor. _Well, the ancestors were cruel._

Bryar wasn’t like _that_ . During the Blight she’d treated him better than anyone had ever done. Why she even continued to entertain all of _his_ crap, Oghren would never understand.

_She was the only one left who still did._

“The King _chose_ Anora, as you well know - yes, she was younger but _I_ wasfar better suited -” she straightened her posture, flicked her hair, puffed out her chest proudly. Bryar pulled him from his thoughts with merely a look. “And _Rendon Howe_ , from what I gather, took it personally, as an insult. Refused to reconsider the previous arrangement. I was suddenly _too old_. Now, am the one left to decide what to do with his only son.”

No idea how to respond. Was too sodding drunk to even dare trying. She’d run the Howe’s from her home like hounds on rats. Oghren remembered the toll it had taken, after everything else she had faced. He’d spent some time in her younger brother's - _Fergus’_ \- army, reclaiming Castle Cousland before Felsi gave birth… It had been so different during the Blight. _Simple_ . When they’d just been two people, fighting whatever - or whoever - was brainless enough to cross their path. He knew it was wrong to miss the worst time of his life - _that part wasn’t over yet_.

"King _this_ and King _that_ \- the Howe kid… You sure get around."

"You can _hardly talk_ ," Bryar sneered, shoving the horn into his chest. From the force alone, he knew her mood was still _sour_. “Though that does remind me. You never did answer my question.”

" _What_ question?" Oghren grumbled, suddenly making every attempt to avoid her gaze. 

"Maker’s breath - _why_ are you even _here_ , Oghren?"

The question hit him like a fist, forced the breath from his lungs. "Why's it even matter? _I’m here._ That not enough?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Let me think." He could hear the warble of frustration - the hurt - in her tone. "Don’t your wife _and child_ need you back home?"

What he’d been avoiding. Didn’t want to discuss. He’d hoped they’d have been able to just have some _time_. Reminisce. Relive the little bit of belonging he had felt by her side. Meeting the Howe boy had certainly shaken Bryar enough to direct all her anger at him.

“Would you even have told me?”

"That’s none of your business," he snapped, swallowing hard, stomach lurching. "What's brought the sodding _Queen of Ferelden_ out to this ruin anyway?" He was suddenly burning under his armor. Found - to his dismay - she'd only gone and finished his ale too. "Missed slumming it, did ya'? Or did _the kid_ finally kick you outta his bed?"

"Alistair?!" Bryar laughed. Coldly. "You and I both know he would _never_ do that to me."

"Yeah, the kid never had any sense."

Bryar's silence was deafening. He hoped she'd have barked and raged at him. _Struck him_ even, though admittedly _that_ had been more of Branka’s style. Instead, for once, Bryar wilted away. Noticeably smaller without all her armor on. It was the first time he'd _really seen_ she was slighter, recovering slowly after facing the Archdemon. Her corded arms were trembling in the dusk air, clad in her prissy little dress to please all the blasted nobles. She fluffed the fur pelt around her shoulders as though brushing his insult aside. "And what exactly does that say about _you_?"

Oghren knew he wasn't good and quick with words like her. It enraged him to think about how he'd left things with Felsi - _the baby_ \- enraged him to be bringing that same fight to Bryar - enraged that he was so ready to die - _should’ve_ \- but decided to bring the worst of himself to her doorstep, instead. And all in all, he found himself without a drink in hand to blot it all out. "Never said I had good judgement."

" _Evidently_."

He shrugged irritably, jaw tight. "Well, I'm here with _you,_ aren't I?" 

At that, she shoved him. In his anger - and drunkenness - he stumbled on the fragments of rubble underfoot. The weight of his plate mail had him down on one knee. There were so many things he wanted to say, but his anger had gone and engulfed every last word.

"You have some bloody _nerve_ to show up here after -" 

Oghren, not thinking, grabbed her waist to steady himself. Felt Bryar stall at their sudden closeness. She glared down at him, breathing heavy, shoving again, though there was no strength behind it. He was hot with rage and suddenly something else entirely. He still wasn’t thinking. A little gasp from above, as his hand roved roughly under her skirts, clasped at the back of her knee. She shuddered at the touch of his cold, metal gauntlets. Hurriedly, Oghren dragged the hem of her dress up her shapely pale calf, all the way to the plumpness of her long, strong thighs. _He’d longed for a chance just to touch her again._

Bryar knew what he intended to do, pushing away at his jaw with her open palms. But he was stronger than all of her half-hearted struggles. She made one last, lame attempt at resistance, as if purely on principle. 

"You weren’t supposed to come back -" 

Oghren ignored all of her protests, leaning into her skin, brushing tender kisses against the firm flesh of her thigh. It stirred his arousal, sinking into the warmth that he had exposed. His gauntlets pressed indentations into her smooth, soft skin, Bryar jolted at the sharp scratch of metal. There was a knot of _need_ in his belly, as Oghren held her firmly in place while the fight in her ebbed. 

"You tellin’ me to _go home_?'' he growled against her, nudging the nook of her leg with his nose, tracing the edge of her smallclothes with his mouth. Like this, she'd never reject him - hadn't ever done so before. 

Bryar fidgeted against the sensations of his hot breath on her groin, her voice quiet. "I never said that." She dragged a hand through his hair, fingers caught on tangles, she tried to pry him away. "We agreed we would _stop this_ . _"_

Oghren shook his head - it was _his_ turn to refuse. _They_ ** _had_** _stopped this_. For six months they had stopped _this_. After the Archdemon, they’d gone their separate ways. Not even letters. No nothing. And he’d tried his sodding _hardest_ not to think about the very fact they had _stopped_ _this_. The only happiness he knew was with _her_ \- that could even remember - except for those fleeting few moments he’d dared to have with the baby. And even that, he had ruined _._

He was careful not to hurt her, nuzzling into her groin, gently, what with all of his armor on. Hoisting her skirts to the side, he inched her smalls down with his teeth. Despite what she said, Bryar helped to roll her underclothes over her thighs one-handed. Panting, she tugged his face away from her pussy. 

“Be _patient_ -”

Oghren huffed. A hot gust against her. He wasn’t going to wait for her to take them all the sodding way off. He'd already waited too long for them to find time alone since she’d arrived at the Keep. Bryar could keep on telling herself that they shouldn’t be doing this - _not with Alistair, Felsi and now, the baby_ \- but Oghren knew the woman had about as much willpower as he did. _Knew_ she didn't care that they were both married. Didn't care he had a sodding newborn with Felsi. Didn't care that he failed as a man, a husband, a father. Was a loathsome, lost and useless drunk who was good at nothing, save for fighting. And _he loved her_ for all of it. Every last insatiable inch.

"Not _here_ ," she begged - back flush against the parapet - all the while she guided him by his hair to her parted inner thighs. “There are guards on duty -”

“Heh, what _guards_ are those?" He was hoisting her leg up as he grumbled, a twitch in his cock with a glimpse of her preened pussy. "You sent most of ‘em to the city.”

Oghren gripped her hard as though she might slip away again, he kissed the tensing muscle of her thigh, trailing up to the velvety crease of her leg. Her fingers clasped at his pauldron, pulling him _in_ , pulling him _downward_. He was gentle with his tongue, and he took his time tasting her. Viscous, liquid flesh - the vague scent of perfume and oils. 

"Help get this off me, woman," Oghren uttered, the rumble of his gruff voice had her trembling. He was weighed down by platemail - his cock pulsing against the confinement. He wanted to feel her with his bare hands. And once he was done with hands, his mouth, then he’d fuck her senseless with his throbbing cock.

"No."

He could _hear_ the smugness in her silky voice.

"Keep it on."

This was her punishment then. _Could be worse,_ Oghren thought. Could've shared the sad ends of her many _betrothed_ \- like the squire, stuffed in his own cell, sitting in squalor. Instead, Oghren was the one she wanted nose deep in her hot, pink cunt.

Thrusting Bryar backward against the parapet, he kissed her deeply, her slickness smearing his face. The rough talk and rougher manhandling always managed to get her wet. Though her knees buckled, he kept her steady, upright, trapped between the cold, damp stone and his hot mouth.

Bryar moaned, a low purr that pricked at his skin, his body jerked in response. He was so hard that it was nearly painful. Nibbling her clit, she bucked hard against him, sucked in sharply through gritted teeth. 

Pain blossomed at his scalp as her knuckles tightened in his scruff of hair. _Burned_ like she was tearing it out from the root. Oghren could barely breathe amidst her grinding thrusts. _There were worse ways to go!_ Blinded by her pussy, eyes watering, his erection he couldn't ignore. He ached to be inside her. He wanted so much to fuck the misery out of her - maybe she could fuck all the misery out of him, too.

_There was no harm in trying._

_And if it didn’t work the first time..._

Bryar must’ve sensed his desperate need to have her, the way that he hungrily lapped at her slit. It was enough to send her over the edge. Bowed over, golden hair spilling, gripping tightly to his armor, he felt the fluttering in her tummy - as she came, driving him forcefully between her legs. 

"Maker, _yes_."

Oghren had come to know what she really liked by how much she moaned it to her god. He didn't relent. Ignored his own frustration to draw out her own. Sucking on the sensitive bud of her clit. Her legs went rigid at his ears - 

" _Your Grace_?" 

Just as Bryar was about to come again, she tore his face away from her body.

Dazed, bleary, Oghren was just as stunned to see the brunette with big tits standing at the end of the battlements, having rounded the stairs, a baffled, no, _mortified_ \- expression on her face. Whatever she'd actually seen beyond the scaffolding, she could probably make some sodding good guesses. 

"Uh, I - _er_."

Stunned, Oghren managed - just about - to stumble to his feet. His erection was throbbing, thighs aching. Bryar was patting down her skirts, hair dishevelled, her cheeks noticeably flushed, eyes half-glazed. If it wasn't already obvious, just one proper glance at _her_ would give a good sodding clue.

" _Yes_? Spit it out, Mhairi. What do you want?"

Oghren would've laughed if it wasn't so serious. Only Bryar could make such casual, callous demands after being discovered on the battlements with a drunken dwarf's face buried between her thighs.

"The seneschal asked me to come find you, Your Grace. There are some things that - er - need your attention." Mhairi's gaze was fixed on the roiling skyline. She wasn't close, but Oghren was certain she'd got an eyeful of _something_. "Shall I, er - tell him you will be along shortly?"

"Well, of course. Why ever not?" 

Bryar was _angry_ . Angrier than how they'd started. Worse that she’d been denied any release. Worse still that they'd been discovered. _That had been stupid_ . Oghren's stomach turned at the thought Bryar _would_ send him home. It killed any and all of his own lingering needs.

_Just as they had been getting along..._

"Go then," she hissed, dismissing Mhairi harshly with a flick of her wrist. The girl was smart enough to vanish, not stop and take in more of the view.

"As for _you_ -"

Oghren _felt_ her icy gaze before it landed. Though Bryar's voice lacked its usual command, sounding so ragged and hoarse. _He took his victories where he could_ . Chest swelling, if she thought he was about to apologise for _that -_

"Forgetting the crown jewels, _your highness_ ," he gloated, offering her smalls he'd swiped off of the floor. Considering Mhairi's interruption, it was just as well that he had.

Bryar snatched them from his grasp. A beat or two of silence between. She gathered herself, lost all her fluster. _This was it. She was going to send him away._ Anger flooded his blood. It would be better to die than face going back. He'd _disappear_ if that's what she _really_ wanted. Couldn't say he hadn't already _tried_. 

"When I am done with whatever nonsense the seneschal has for me, join me in my chambers later tonight."

It wasn't an invite. He looked up at her thickly. _Was he really that drunk?_ He didn't feel that drunk anymore... "What?" The question came out in barely a croak.

"Later," she repeated. "We have a lot to catch up on, wouldn't you say?"

Oghren stared, uncharacteristically speechless _,_ as she drew her thumb across his upper lip. He smarted at the gentlest touch.

"Your beard is _damp_ ." Nonchalant, a hint of amusement, she felt her own wetness at his mouth. _Smirking_. How he'd missed that smile - the one reserved only for him.

"Who's gonna know!" He laughed - a rush of _relief_ \- a sudden surge of good humour. "Just tell 'em Ol' Oghren spilled his sodding drink!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sodding emotions. Blasted spouses. What else could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as before, a quick warning: does include mentions of alcoholism, very brief suicidal ideation and (past) domestic violence in this chapter.

Squinting through the dusty beams of dawnlight that dappled their new bedchamber, Oghren struggled under the layers of heavy quilts and furs. Roused by the bitter cold and a terrible thirst, he leaned across freckled shoulders, accidentally groping a handful of tit - then tangling in long, wild hair. Irritably, sleepily, she swatted his searching hand aside.

" _Where'sthewinewoman_?" he managed, throat dry and burning, half-blinded by the hazy light. He'd almost forgotten where he was. 

"I don't know… On the floor…" She mumbled quietly, rolling herself deeper into the pelts, stretching long limbs across his chest.

He had assumed it was Felsi in those bleary-eyed seconds before he became conscious. Until stark, sober awareness flooded his mind. _They didn't share a bed anymore as husband and wife._ Hadn't since the baby. That, and he'd slept all too well for it. Felsi's legs certainly couldn't wrap all the way around his hips like this. _Nor did they seem to go on forever_.

He loathed leaving the tangle that was Bryar's warm body, but this _thirst_ was far greater. _He couldn't ignore it._ _The constant nag._ Prying himself loose, barefoot on the cold stone - stumbling slightly - Oghren booted the chamberpot out from under the bed. Knocked an empty bottle to the side with a rattling _clink_.

There were four bottles of her fancy, red Rivaini stuff scattered on the rug. Three of them his, every one of them empty. He recognised his own clothes strewn from the doorway to the oak frame four poster, filling gaps of time the wine had removed. Oghren swiped a horn, half spilled on her dresser, to drain the very last dregs that were left.

Bryar drank so that she could sleep. He drank to bear being awake. 

Well, it made sense then, that Oghren could only recall _glimpses_ of their night spent together. Bryar's hands through his hair, the bitter taste of wine in her mouth, blonde eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, her teeth pinching his lip. Disoriented upon waking in a strange chamber in Vigil's Keep - it felt _far_ _too good_ to know Bryar had slept soundly beside him. Unfamiliar - but not at all unpleasant - to find she hadn't charged off to the seneschal, and had stayed with him instead. 

"Can you piss _any_ louder?" Came a quiet groan from within the bundle of shifting wolf furs. 

Bryar rose reluctantly from the pocket of warmth they'd shared within the blankets. A tangled matt of golden hair across her pale face, swollen lips stained red with wine, she was tired. Dazed. Like how she used to look, waking up in his tent and sneaking silently back to her own bedroll. Oghren preferred her like this. Bryar's private self, for his eyes only, before bloodlines and duty had her presenting as something - _someone_ \- different.

"Am I offending your _delicate sensibilities_ , _your highness_?" Oghren mocked, forcing back the potent sentimentality that was pouring into his sober mind.

"Delicate sensibilities?" she half-laughed through a yawn. There was nothing _delicate_ about Bryar Cousland. "Since when have you _ever_ once been concerned by the thought of offending me?"

"It happens," he grumbled, shrugging as he shook off. There had been one or two moments he'd tried his very hardest not to ruin.

" _Careful_ with that." Her silky voice hummed as she padded across the room. "Maker forbid, people might start thinking you have a _soft spot_ for me."

His throat tightened at her words, raw when he swallowed. "You don't keep me around for my _soft spots_ ," Oghren added bitterly. 

"Fortunately, I don't _keep you around_ for _delightful company_ either - or I'd be very disappointed," she mused playfully.

"Hmph." Oghren knew she was toying, still, it pissed him off. _He sodding_ _loved her_ , though he'd never admit out loud. Not to her. Not to _anyone_. He would die with it if need be. "Funny. Didn't hear you complaining about my company all that much last night."

As Bryar shrugged her shoulders, the sheets fell from her toned, slender frame. Oghren couldn't help but stare at the wounds on her back, the slivers where the archdemon's teeth had sunk through her armor and pierced her flesh. Black veins tendrilled from blade-like scars, along her spine, across her hips, where her soft, pale skin had turned mottled and marbled. 

_It_ _hurt_. A pang deep in his chest to see it so clearly. The cost of ending the Blight, blackened and blue, on her body. It had healed _terribly_ \- worse than any of the botched scars he'd seen in the Provings - or scars of his own, from fights countless in number. Bryar caught his lingering gaze and hurriedly covered herself with her gown. _That hurt even more._

"I doubt you noticed much of _anything,_ now you mention it," she replied, a sudden tenseness in her voice.

_Yes, he'd turned up at her bedroom barely able to stand straight…_ Bryar had rarely ever rounded on him for his habits. _She had plenty of her own, after all._

"I'd probably remember a bit better if it wasn't for a _cracked skull_ ," he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the thudding pain in his head. _He needed more than a mouthful of her sodding wine._ "You were so eager, woman, I lost count of how many times I hit the headboa- _ugh_."

She had rounded on him, a towering height - thrusting the gathered clothes at his chest with a simmering glare. " _You_ headbutted the wall trying to climb into bed."

"Oh yeah? You stripped me down the moment I stepped through the sodding door!"

"You were filthy."

"Heh. Ain't that why you like me?" 

"I mean it, you were _actually_ filthy." There was a sad tremble in her voice that turned his stomach. 

Oghren glanced at his rumpled shirt. _Unwashed and ragged_.

Bryar hadn't invited him out to Vigil's Keep. He'd waited for her of his own accord. She was the only true friend he had left. _Why_ couldn't he stop himself from turning on her? Still, he couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth. "So, not up for round two then I take it?"

" _What_ are you talking about?" There was no gentle playfulness. "That is _not_ what it was like -" 

He could see the flicker of confusion in her expression, blonde brows furrowing, watching as he practically forced his legs through his pants, one at a time, to avoid her bewildered expression.

"Oghren, we didn't -" 

The realisation dawned on him too late. Their first night and he'd been too drunk for _anything_ . So drunk he could barely recall talking, what was said, what was done, as they retired to her big, comfortable bed. He'd said things he shouldn't - he was almost certain she had replied in kind. The _one thing_ he wouldn't have wanted to black out, and he had done anyway. 

"Forget I said anything," Oghren snapped, head pounding, unable to piece together the splintered moments. Remembering only remnants of her softness, the lull of her voice advising him softly, with laughter, to “ _shut up and go to sleep_.” 

How she had gently undressed him and put him to bed. This was all a _bad_ idea. He had no business being here - leaving Felsi behind with the baby - stirring up all the sodding, stupid _feelings_ he and Bryar had decided to leave behind with the Blight.

***

In the haze of his liquid breakfast, Oghren managed to avoid being swept up in the flurry of servants and staff to accommodate the unexpected arrival. With Bryar too busy attending to all the _important people_ , he got to sit and stew over his flagon of ale _alone_ . Already too drunk to assist in any of the work effort - just when he'd figured things couldn't get any _worse_ \- a skittish elven servant made him grossly aware that the King's gold and white banners had been spotted, billowing on the cloudy horizon. 

Along with Mhairi, Anders, the seneschal, a handful of her own guardsmen, Oghren was dragged across the sodden, open fields as Bryar thought fit. Blatantly ignoring the state he was in. With his gaze low, at the trampled muddied hem of her dress, they headed out to formally greet the royal entourage. _Sodding emotions. Blasted spouses. What else could possibly go wrong?_

"I didn't know that King Alistair would be coming to Vigil's Keep, Your Grace," Mhairi said, sounding as nervous as she was awed. "I would have polished my armour - would have prepared -"

Oghren scoffed. "For what? To signal him with the shine off your _breastplate_? Should've said, I'd've helped buffer you up." 

" _Ugh!_ "

The two women spoke above him, literally and figuratively.

"- Neither did I." Bryar's eyebrow quirked at his comment - though her bright eyes remained fixed on the approaching troupe. 

"Should _I_ be worried, Your Grace?" Anders' voice was light, but the mage could not ignore the gleaming heavy armour, templar sigils, the barking hounds, the royal guardsmen that drew in around them.

Oghren laughed, slurring. " _Nah_. They've probably marched all the way out here so the King can ask the Queen what boot goes on what foot again!" 

"That's the _King Alistair_ you're talking about! A _real_ Warden!" Mhairi corrected, clearly insulted, as though he didn't sodding know. "He was with the Warden Commander at Ostagar facing the darkspawn army, went on to the Deep Roads, faced off with Teryn Loghain -"

"He doesn't need a history lesson," Bryar snipped.

"Yes, Your Grace."

" _I_ was with the Warden Commander too, remember?" Oghren continued, annoyed at how natural it was for his part to be overlooked.

By everybody.

_Except for Bryar Cousland._

Mhairi glanced between them. "Actually, that's something I'm still trying very hard to _forget_."

" _Enough_. The both of you."

Bryar's command came at the right time, as Alistair himself trudged within earshot, chest plate shining. Tall, compared even to his Queen. An amber beard, firm jaw, a stern expression. He was _changed_. 

Wearing crowns cruder than any metal Oghren had seen in Orzammar, Bryar and Alistair were nothing like the dwarven nobles he'd known. Both of them stood knee-deep in the filth of their own lands, unperturbed, generations of barbarian blood thumping in their veins. 

Feral royals for a feral country. Oghren loathed to admit, but the kid looked every bit of a King.

Arms crossed against chests. Bowing. Knees driven into the dirt. All the while, Oghren remained standing. Not out of stubborness. _Well, maybe a bit._ But if he tried doing all that, they'd be having to drag him up from the mud.

Alistair nodded, regarded the reception with a casual air, wobbling through the slurry torn up by the recent attacks, he almost collided right into his Queen. "It looks like I've arrived a bit late," he mused. "Too bad, I rather miss the whole darkspawn killing thing."

The kid steadied himself under Bryar's unwavering gaze, her body supporting his weight, pressing his lips gingerly against her freckled cheek. "And how are you _dear wife?_ Not hurt I see."  
  


Oghren felt sick, took a deep swill from his horn, to only half-see the careful, deliberate touches between the royal pair. As much as he knew it wasn't _real_ , it didn't make it any less irritating to witness. 

"I'm _fine_ , Alistair - "

And they made a _fine_ arranged couple too. Far better than he and Branka ever did. At least Bryar and Alistair gave _some_ effort to hide the resentment brewing beneath the surface. It was almost believable, if Oghren hadn't lived that very same slice of misery for himself.

"- I've fought far worse - you know this, my King -" Bryar’s tone was neutral, well-practiced.

"I married an indestructible goddess. I am such a _lucky man_." 

The blatant sarcasm aside, Bryar didn't have to tolerate any _unruly_ behaviour from Alistair, and Alistair didn't have to face any physical wrath at the hands of a hammer-wielding madwoman the moment they were left alone. In that, they were somewhat different to Oghren's experience of _marital bliss_. 

Thank the ancestors, really. It's not like Alistair needed to grit his teeth - or drink excessively - in order to _do his duty_ with his new bride. It was no wonder the people of Ferelden felt satisfied sandwiched between the two of them. Oghren would be the first to admit, the Ferelden King and Queen were certainly more _pleasing to the eye_ than he and Branka ever were. Even on their best days. Though those had been few and far between. 

_Alistair had no right to complain. He’d take Bryar off the kid’s hands in a heartbeat._

"I'd wanted to come and give the wardens a formal welcome, I certainly wasn't expecting this. Or _you_ , actually." Alistair laughed, but his eyes were dull, his handsome smile faltered. "I wish you'd have told me where you were headed, _love_ \- if it wasn't for the look-outs letting me know you had left - " 

"My King," Bryar addressed the kid by his title to seperate them from familiarity, steering away from his open arms. She'd never been one for public displays of affection. Even Oghren knew that. _Probably wasn't appropriate though, for him to start offering tips._ "There was no time. Vigil’s Keep was under attack, the Orlesian Grey Wardens were taking great losses."

_So, Ol' Oghren wasn't the only one who had disappeared in the dead of night - without a word - hoping to run headfirst into a darkspawn horde?_

Alistair sighed in defeat. "And what's the situation now?" 

"What darkspawn remained, have fled,” the silver-haired seneschal took an opportunity to detract from the growing tensions. “And the Grey Wardens who had arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead or currently missing, Your Majesty." He cleared his throat - refused to share the ale that Oghren offered him. "The Queen - our Commander - has taken charge of the Keep."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're in my wife's _good hands_ ," Alistair assured, like he actually meant it this time. 

Oghren couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. From the rim of his horn he grumbled - barely managed the sentence out loud. "You _sure_ about that?" 

Mhairi had gone to swipe him and missed. 

" _Oghren_ ?!" Alistair's eyebrows shot up his head, turning immediately, voice dry. "Is that you?” A scoff. “ _Now_ this little gathering is beginning to make sense…"

Oghren didn't need to look up. Could already feel Bryar's gaze burning through his helmet **.**

“Forgot all about Oghren, did ya?” 

“One can only try,” Mhairi was muttering.

"You're right, I apologise. I should've recognised you from the swaying. And the _smell_."

" _What'reyoutryin'say_ ? All I can _smell_ is sodding _wet dog_ and that sure as stone ain't _me_!" He shuffled on his feet. The cold was beginning to bite under his clothes the longer they stood out in the open. And, more importantly, he was running out of ale to dull it. 

Alistair hummed, appearing to have come to some important decision, _or something.  
  
_

"We will stay, then. I will happily assist my darling wife with any further preparations."

Bryar's gloved fists clenched at her side. A light, hollow laugh. "That's _hardly_ necessary, My King -" 

_Maybe he’d gone and pushed it too far._

"- My men can rest up before we march back to Denerim."

"We have food and empty beds for your men, Your Majesty," the seneschal nodded agreeably. 

_Sod it!_ They had only spent one evening getting _reacquainted_ , and it was already over for as long as Alistair lingered on the sidelines… This was not going any way he'd have wanted. After longing to see Bryar, in all the time they'd been apart, always in the back of his mind - just to be with her once more, if only for a little while… _Why was everything still so sodding awful?_ Oghren wanted it back how it had been before. Back in the Blight.

The two separate parties merged, stomping back across the dead crop and trampled earth towards the Keep. Glancing up at Bryar, her pale face was a mask, cheeks flushed pink by the bitter wind. She strode, eyes forward, jaw set. Oghren regretted having baited her into a stupid argument. Who knew when he'd get to speak to her next. She stormed ahead, pace matched by her King. It wasn't long before he was trailing behind with the rest of the guardsmen. 

"Wait - don't I _know_ you?" 

Oghren turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, as the same woman shoved him roughly aside. Annoyed enough that he was ready to get into a spat if someone was wanting it. Spotted the _severe_ looking templar woman from the royal troupe hurrying along to Anders. She was furious, features so sharp she looked ready to pick the mage clean of his bones. Ancestors, if she was an _ex_ , well, he might finally have been outdone.

She got a good long look at Anders' pretty face and hair, then the templar started crowing. Loudly. "King Alistair! Beware, this man is a dangerous criminal!" 

"Now, now Rylock," Alistair began casually, barely looking back over his shoulder. "The dwarf's a complete _arse_ , but I wouldn't go so far to say -" 

"This is an apostate we were in the process of bringing back to the circle to face justice!" 

Anders' thin nose wrinkled at Rylock's accusation, lips curling into a snarl. "Oh, _please_ . The things _you people_ know about justice wouldn't fit in a thimble." He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.” He turned to face her directly - spoke under his breath - but Oghren heard it. “I'd just escape again anyhow."

He couldn't help but laugh at the kid's surprising abundance of balls. 

Bryar stalled at the commotion. Bringing the entire entourage to an abrupt standstill - it unsettled the dogs - had them barking and snarling, straining at their leashes. Oghren managed to catch his footing, before he bumped right into her ass. _Something she probably wasn't in the mood for. At least_ _not right now_. She regarded the scene with haughty indifference, tone low and commanding. "You are mistaken, _templar_. This mage is with _me_."

"What? I'll see him hanged for what he’s done here, that _murderer_!" 

Another templar soldier shoved Oghren again, as though he didn’t exist. “Hey!”

Anders’ was panicked, as the rest of Rylock’s own men - in all their skirts - came forcing their way to the forefront. " _Murderer_!? But those templars were -"

When Bryar cut across the woman's path, only then did Rylock suddenly falter. Cold eyes unblinking, Bryar bared down on the terrorhawk of a woman. "You will stand down, _ser_.”

"What?! But he -"

“You cannot touch him. This mage is hereby conscripted by the Grey Warden order."

Oghren knew Bryar didn't have quite the same level of sympathies for mages than that of her husband, but as far as he had understood and experienced, as soon as you were under her charge, you simply became one of her own. _Ancestors, he hoped that was still the same case for himself..._

Somehow, despite knowing she faced off with the sodding Warden Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, Rylock hadn't seen this one coming. "Never!" 

" _No_. I believe the Grey Wardens still retain this rite," Alistair interjected - forcing her objections to cease. "I will allow it."

Rylock wilted, armor rattling as she withdrew, relenting under the Queen's glare and the King's firm order. "If Your Majesty feels it is best… " she waded back into the ranks, signalling for her own men to stand down.

"Welcome aboard kid!" He had been warming to Anders, slowly but surely. There had always seemed to be room for another reject or underdog during the Blight days. And what was he, if not a reject and an underdog?

"Me? A _Grey Warden_ ?" Despite the blustery weather, Anders' adjusted the collar of his robe, glistening with sweat. "I suppose that _could work_ …"

He didn’t sound too convinced. Oghren couldn’t really blame him for that. Facing off with all manner of horrors, the Deep Roads, all the black ichor, the stink of rot and meat and death. Couldn’t see it being much to Anders’ taste. _Nor was it anyone’s really_ \- it was just that in the warrior caste, it was often expected. Wasn’t anyone’s choice. Just what he did.

"Congratulations, ser mage! I look forward to fighting by your side!" Mhairi eagerly offered her own support, gleaming at the prospect of another recruit. Oghren doubted he'd get quite the same reception. 

"That opportunity may have come sooner than expected," Alistair stated above the idle chatter, voice warbling slightly. Both Bryar and Alistair were facing the same direction, their senses alerted ahead of time, as darkspawn bled, like a black well, pouring into the field ahead - from _nowhere_. Their position blocking Vigil's Keep from both royal troupes.

Not the largest horde, but still enough to overwhelm them. Oghren would put money on it, out of the guards and recruits, only he, Bryar and Alistair had faced off with such a number of darkspawn before in open battle. It was different in the Deep Roads. Any idiot could swing a sword, or axe, and chop them down - _just keep swinging_ \- the trick was simply to survive long enough, and keep on going. Out in the open, on the surface, Oghren had discovered darkspawn behaved differently. They regrouped, they mirrored. Worst, they coordinated. It wasn’t just a mindless horde of monsters siphoned into tunnels, but a mass of enemies that could flood and overwhelm even the best warriors topside. 

"Shit," Bryar hissed through her teeth. Clad in nothing but her stupid red dress! No armor, no weapons. _This was bad._ "My King?" she spoke calmly. "Your shield, if I may."

Alistair thrust his shield at her, shaped for a golden maw of a snarling mabari, unsheathing his sword to stand aside her, his guardsmen followed suit.

He had no time to think. The darkspawn were already upon them. The hounds let loose, with all their barking and whimpering, the grunting and growling of the darkspawn battering against them. He acted purely on instinct, to simply strike at whatever foul thing got in his way. Guardsmen fell at either side, into the slurry of mud that was churned up at their feet. He could barely move, lost his drinking horn, trampled into the sludge. The weight of the enemy bared down on them all.

Blinking back the spray of red and black, Oghren found Mhairi stabbing a hurlock straight through the throat. The heat of Anders' magefire blazed against the metal of his chestplate, met with the stink of burning flesh, the acrid scent of singing hair and _boiling_ _rot_. He lopped the head off a darkspawn, spasming, on fire. Split another in two as he struggled through the surge of flailing, clawing, crazed bodies. Amidst it all, he couldn't find Bryar. 

His heart sank as he spotted Alistair, _alone_ , amber hair stained with dark viscera, as he cut and slashed at the constant barrage of spitting jaws, clashing weapons. And then, through the thick of the dark, seething mass, he spotted streaks of golden blonde hair, the ringing clangs of her shield, as she beat down on the face of a hurlock, shattering its skull, turning its ugly mug into crushed, wet pulp. Bringing her shield into her ribs to deflect the stab of a lone dagger, to twist against the tide of horrors, a sword sliding off the sheet, with enough force behind her, she managed to disarm the sodding thing there and then.

She'd told him once her mother was a _shield-maiden_. Oghren had never seen someone use the hulking chunk of metal as effortlessly as Bryar did in all of his life.

_She was alive._

It was a sigh of relief, as he cleaved the limbs off a darkspawn that attempted to flank him - daring for his blindspots and failing miserably. They seemed to have the upperhand for all of a moment, until he heard Anders cry above the screeches, the yells and the _grind_ of the fighting.

"The templars are retreating! They're abandoning us!" 

He glanced across the distance and saw Rylock ordering her men away. Most of the royal guards were already downed, injured, seperated, _dead._ Neither King nor Queen had men left to protect them. Anders was exhausted. Mhairi overwhelmed. They rushed for their Warden Commander. There were still too many darkspawn left standing. 

" _Protect the fucking King of Ferelden_!" 

Bryar's desperate order came like a punch to the gut. Oghren had never once disobeyed her, never once even questioned her decisions in all of the strange and horrific situations they'd suffered. Unlike how it had been as a member of the warrior caste, _do your service, don't ask questions_ , she'd never given him any reason to go against her wishes. 

" _Protect your King_!" 

It wasn’t just Oghren who hesitated. Mhairi and Anders paused - as much as Alistair _was_ their King, and not really his - Bryar had a way of breeding such loyalty. She was armorless, weaponless. Alistair was struggling against the constant wash of malformed monsters. His face stained black with their blood. Bryar staved off the bite of a blade with her shield. The two _real_ Grey Warden’s could go longer than most - but not long _enough_.

“Sod off,” he growled to himself. _She’d never hear it._ Hacking his way blindly through a wall of hands and legs, splintered bone and splitting torsos open, slipping on entrails, he rushed to reach Bryar in time. 

" **_It is ending, just as he foretold_ **."

Wasn't sure if _that_ was real or not. If the fight had got to him. The stress of it pressing down on his mind. Toyed with his perceptions. It had happened once or twice before... He was already too sober to blame it on the drink. A darkspawn had _spoken_ as it advanced on Bryar _._ A whispering husk, milky, glazed eyes met with hers on the battlefield. Oghren froze up in shock. 

" **_Be taking this one gently_ **."

Bryar stumbled backwards, almost lost her footing entirely in the shallow trenches of the field. Her face fell - pure horror - as the darkspawn lifted his arm and singled her out to it’s followers. 

"It's _talking_?!" Mhairi burst, close to his side. 

"It's _talking_!" Anders confirmed with disgust. 

"Well, let's shut it up already!" Sensation was rushing back to his bones. The warmth of _rage_ _and fear_. Ears thrumming, heart beating hard against his ribcage.

" **_Capture the Grey Wardens. These others. They may be killed_ **." 

_The Grey Wardens._ Capture them? For what? Oghren’s stomach tightened. He didn't want to find out. There was _no way_ they were getting her. After all they had seen and done. He swore to the ancestors, _over his dead body would he let them have Bryar._

" _Bryar_!" Alistair was yelling above the churning, crashing, slicing, bashing. "Look out!" 

But Bryar was transfixed. Locked in absolute terror by the darkspawn that could somehow _speak_ . By instinctual reflex she raised her shield in time, as a huge hurlock, swinging a great axe, beat down on her. The swing was so hard, the crack of metal - _bones_ \- or both, resounded. A sickening _crunch_ as she staggered back from the serious blow. Dazed by the sheer pain of it, entirely absent, she was knocked to the ground.

And the blows did not stop. Coming down hard and fast, Oghren knew it was only time before she missed a block. She was tired, badly wounded, trapped beneath her shield. _Don’t you dare_ \- _he’d come here to die_ \- not _her_.

Oghren and Mhairi cleaved a path. Mhairi met with the hurlock’s strike before it sent Bryar right into the dirt. Distracting the beast from it's onslaught, she stuck it with his blade, once, twice. Kept them coming. Oghren charged for the darkspawn giving the orders, caved in its chest piece - bent it concave - with one desperate, sweeping swing. Anders’ joined the fray last, and melted the lingerers, sloughing the skin from their bones.

They were _dead_.

At last.

The darkspawn had been defeated. _Only just._

After Oghren cracked the ribs and crushed the filthy lungs of their leader, those of them that survived scurried off as quickly as they came. Of their own entourage, there were very few left. Some groaning, stunned, laid injured among the littered corpses. Oghren didn't take the time to search for survivors, hurried instead for the mabari shield, bent wholly out of shape. Alistair was already at Bryar's side - prying the blasted thing off her body. 

Chest aching, Oghren realised he wasn’t breathing. But _thank the ancestors_ \- Bryar was. Though he couldn’t see her face, turned into the mud, hair drenched in slick filth. Crumpled, her gold band in the dirt. Her chest was rising and falling in tiny, short bursts. He paused. Stared as she lay at his feet, unable to gather his thoughts or the words to address her. He knelt down, as Alistair pulled Bryar into his arms. Oghren flinched as her limbs went slack. Thankful his helmet hid him from view. 

“Hey, you alright?” he heard the mage ask him quietly, as Anders nudged Oghren aside. Despite the kid’s exhaustion, hair frayed, breath ragged, he took to immediately tending the worst of her injuries.

  
Mhairi was hurrying to get Bryar to her feet in case the darkspawn returned, the seneschal hooking Bryar's good arm, lifting her in support. Her head lolled on her shoulders and Oghren's heart lurched.

Alistair was asking all kinds of hurried questions that came and went in a blur. _Grey Wardens? Talking? What do they want?_

Oghren couldn’t focus. On them, or anyone else. Survivors were gathering. The more people that came to Bryar's aid, the further he was pushed, until he found himself right at the back of the crowd.

He watched, useless, _numb_ , as Bryar Cousland - his Warden and only friend - was ushered away.

A slither of red velvet, and then she was gone. 


End file.
